At least it’s not a miniskirt, she thought, as they headed for the hatch. I’d feel silly walking around in something so short.
She smiled at the thought, then braced herself as the hatch opened. There was no one outside, not even the marine guards. They’d been called away to their duty stations. She took a breath as she followed Oslo down the corridor towards the sealed airlock keeping the Emperor’s quarters separate from the rest of the ship. The superdreadnaught was in lockdown, she reminded herself. Each compartment was supposed to be sealed off, in case of a hull breach. Oslo checked the telltales, then pushed a datachip against the bulkhead-mounted scanner. The airlock hissed open, revealing another empty corridor.
“Too many airlocks, sir,” one of the bodyguards whispered.
“They need to keep the air trapped,” Oslo muttered. He didn’t sound nervous, merely focused on the task at hand. “If something happens to vent the air in the compartment beyond, the airlock won’t open no matter what overrides you have.”
And it will keep the marines from mounting an immediate response, Tiffany thought. Ginny had explained, in some detail, just how the system worked. The marines had overrides too, of course, but they’d still be slowed down as they opened and closed every hatch between Marine Country and the makeshift brig. Unless, of course, there’s a marine duty station closer than we know.
She shook her head as they passed through yet another airlock. It would be hellish to find themselves caught before they’d even gotten close to the prisoners. She wondered, absently, if there was any excuse she could give, but realized there was no way anyone could put an innocent spin on her actions. They’d armed themselves, donned shipsuits to make themselves look like crewmen, and left her quarters. Even Public Information, which had somehow managed to make the Grand Senate look good, couldn’t possibly have spun it into a believable story.
“This is the outer edge of the guest compartment,” Oslo warned, as they reached yet another airlock. “We may encounter resistance beyond this point.”
He glanced at Tiffany. “Stay in the rear.”
Tiffany nodded, bracing herself as the guards drew their weapons and opened the airlock. A Blackshirt stood outside the door, looking visibly nervous as low tremors ran through the entire ship. Oslo lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger. Tiffany stared in horror as a green plasma bolt struck the Blackshirt’s head and burned it clean off.
“You killed him!”
“Yes, I did,” Oslo said. “We don’t dare let anyone call for help.”
Tiffany couldn’t take her eyes off the body. She’d never seen anyone die so close to her before, not even Tobias Vaughn. Part of her wanted to kneel and beg the man’s forgiveness, even though she knew it would be useless. If he’d still been alive, he would have tried to stop them from taking the hostages. She glanced up, sharply, as the hatch opened, revealing the guest quarters. Two more guards, on the inside, were caught by surprise and blasted down before they could grab their own weapons.
“They may have rigged the room to set off an automatic alert if someone fires a weapon,” Oslo muttered. He nodded to the hostages, hidden behind the forcefield, as he started to work on the security systems. “But if we’re lucky, they didn’t have time.”
The forcefield snapped out of existence, leaving only a faint taste of ozone in the air. “You need to come with us,” Oslo snapped. “Don’t do anything to slow us down.”
Tiffany wanted to tell him he was being too sharp, but she was still stunned by the sudden violence. Three men were dead... and it was all her fault. She pushed her fear aside as Talia gave her a tight hug, tears streaming down her face. Meeting their father, if only briefly, had probably rammed home the seriousness of the situation in ways no words could hope to match.
“Come on,” Oslo hissed. “We need to get moving before they realize something’s wrong...”
A low hooting ran through the compartment. Oslo swore and hurried back into the corridor, just as an airlock started to hiss open at the far end. Tiffany followed him, hurrying the former hostages back the way they’d come. She glanced back, just in time to see a trio of Blackshirts behind the opening airlock. Oslo gunned them down, then threw a grenade down the corridor and into a side room. The resulting explosion almost deafened her.
“That’s the intruder alarm,” Oslo snapped. “One of the overrides must have failed.”
Tiffany nodded, clutching her pistol as they hurried through the next set of airlocks, closing them in hopes of slowing down the enemy. She wouldn’t have given the Blackshirts override keys, but the marines definitely would have overrides of their own. Maybe, just maybe, they’d assume the ship was being boarded and search for the hull breach... and yet, she knew it was too much to hope for.
Talia caught her arm. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a courier boat docked to the hull,” Tiffany gasped. She wasn’t used to running so hard. “It’s going to be cramped, but...”
She threw herself to the deck, dragging the younger girl with her, as the airlock behind them exploded with shattering force. Oslo and his men spun around, firing bolt after bolt of green plasma at the Blackshirts; Tiffany prayed, desperately, that they’d hold the enemy off long enough for the hostages to escape. She crawled forward as the guards held the line, pressing her override key against the scanner. The airlock hissed open, allowing them to make a break through the airlock and into the next section. Oslo threw another grenade down the corridor, then brought up the rear.
“Kenny and Sam didn’t make it,” he said, as the airlock hissed closed. “They’re both dead for sure.”
Tiffany felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. Kenny had been a sweet man, always ready to chat, while Sam had been engaged to a girl he’d planned to marry after completing his tour of duty. She’d liked them both. Hell, she’d intended to convince Marius to arrange for a sinecure for Sam, once his loyalties to her family were replaced by loyalties to his wife and children. But now she’d never have the chance. She wanted to slump against the bulkhead and cry...
“Come on,” Oslo snapped. He hauled her to her feet, and pushed her forward. “There’s no time to mourn!”
There was no sign of any resistance as they passed through the next set of compartments, but Tiffany could tell that Oslo was getting more and more concerned. The Blackshirts were a minor problem, compared to the marines, yet the marines hadn’t shown themselves. Where were they? Ginny had promised to do what she could to delay pursuit, but she’d made it very clear that there were limits. Compromising the internal communications datanet was one thing, yet the marines had communicators of their own. Once they realized there was a problem, they’d make the switch and that would be that.
She fought her way forward, desperately. “How much further?”
“Three more compartments,” Oslo said. “But do they know where we’re going?”
Tiffany blanched. There weren’t many ways to get off a superdreadnaught — and using the lifepods would guarantee recovery by the wrong side, if their pods didn’t get mistaken for weapons in the confusion and destroyed by one side or the other. The marines would think of the courier boat at once, believing it to be a better option than the shuttlebay. It was certainly closer to the guest quarters.
On the other hand, we’d need the right codes to fly the craft, Tiffany thought. Do they realize Ginny gave us the codes?
She felt a sudden stab of guilt as the next hatch opened, revealing nothing. Oslo led the way forward, then swore as the next hatch snapped upwards. He unhooked a grenade from his belt and hurled it forward, just as four armored men appeared ahead of them. Tiffany hit the ground again as it detonated, but two of the men kept coming forward. She stared, in horror, as Mike fell to the ground, his chest smoking from where a plasma bolt had struck him dead center. The other two marines were picked off by Oslo and Stuart before they had a chance to kill any of the others...
“They must not have had time to set up a proper ambush,”
Oslo said. “I...”
He ducked backwards as another bolt of plasma fire burned through the air, striking Stuart in the head. Tiffany felt her gorge rise at the stench and swallowed hard. Oslo lunged forward and checked the next compartment, weapon in hand. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone blocking their way to the courier boat.
“Get the kids onto the ship,” Tiffany told him. “You’re the only one who can fly her.”
“I’m supposed to protect you,” Oslo snapped, as Talia urged her siblings through the hatch and into the courier boat. “My Lady...”
Tiffany turned, holding her pistol at the ready. “If you don’t get them off the ship, all of this will be for nothing,” she snapped back. “I...”
Something slammed into her body and picked her up, hurling her down the corridor and straight into a bulkhead. She was unconscious before her body hit the deck.
* * *
Oslo stared in shock, helplessly caught between two imperatives, as Tiffany was thrown away from him. On one hand, he was meant to protect Tiffany, the sole surviving member of the family he served. But on the other hand, he knew she was right. If he failed to get the hostages off the ship, the death of every other member of his team would be for nothing. He slammed the hatch closed, then ran to the console to start the flash-wake sequence. It would put a great deal of wear and tear on the courier boat’s systems, but he rather doubted it would matter. There was a very good chance they’d be blown out of space in the next five minutes.
“Strap yourselves in,” he barked at the former hostages. The older girl seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, but the other three were clearly panicking. “Don’t even think about getting up until I say otherwise.”
He disconnected the courier boat from the superdreadnaught, then triggered her thrusters and hurled her away from the mighty ship. If Ginny had succeeded, the targeting datanet should have problems locking onto the courier boat, at least long enough to give them a fighting chance to escape. But there was also the very real risk of being caught and killed by a rebel starfighter, the pilot merely seeing a loyalist courier boat fleeing to somewhere safe. Alarms sounded in the tiny compartment as he pushed the drives well past their safety limits, silently thanking the Emperor for overriding the Grand Senate’s decrees. It would kill the Emperor, Oslo thought, when he realized that the courier boat would probably not have escaped if she’d been forced to operate within the Grand Senate’s safety limitations.
“I need to speak to dad,” Talia said. “If we’re no longer hostages...”
Oslo hesitated. Emperor Marius had turned spiteful — it was why he hadn’t argued too strongly against risking Lady Tiffany. He doubted the Emperor would hesitate to blow the courier out of space, once Talia revealed that the game was up. And Tiffany wasn’t even on the ship!
“Do it,” he ordered, grimly. He picked up a headset and tossed it at her, barely taking his eyes off the controls. “Hurry!”
Talia swore. “Are you sure this will reach dad?”
“Stay on the emergency channel and everyone will hear it,” Oslo snapped. He had no idea which of the superdreadnaughts within range held Admiral Vincent; hell, he had no idea if Admiral Vincent was surrounded by Blackshirts or not. But they had to try. And everyone, according to regulations, was meant to monitor the emergency channel at all times. “And make it convincing!”
“Yes, sir,” Talia said. She started to speak into the headset. “Dad, it’s me. We got away from the Emperor...”
And let’s just hope that’s enough, Oslo thought. On the display, a trio of starfighters were turning towards the courier boat. He could have outrun them, if he’d had a head start, but as it was they’d catch him before he could make his escape. We might not survive the next few minutes.
He pulled back, studying the display. The Emperor’s ships were advancing towards the rebels, firing so rapidly they had to be burning through their magazines at a terrifying rate. But if it worked, if the rebels were trapped, it would be more than worth it. Oslo feared the Emperor, yet he also respected him. Emperor Marius still had a very good chance of winning the war.
“There’s no reply,” Talia said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Keep talking,” Oslo said. There was no point in trying to hide. “That’s all you can do.”
And hope we can rescue Lady Tiffany, he added, silently. Her husband will not be pleased with her.
Chapter Thirty-One
It is ironic indeed that one of the greatest battles of the final civil war was also the whole civil war in microcosm.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Tara Prime, 4102
“Force Two is opening fire,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “Force One’s missiles are entering point defense engagement range.”
“Order the point defense to engage at will,” Roman said. The missiles were a problem, but the tidal wave of starfighters and gunboats were a nightmare. If he ordered his starfighters to attack the enemy ships, the enemy starfighters would have a clear shot at his ships. “And order the CSP to cover our hulls.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “Force One is impaling itself on our missiles.”
Roman shrugged. Emperor Marius — and he was sure he was matching wits with his former mentor — would have arranged his ships to ensure the smaller craft soaked up most of the missiles. The range was closing all the time, of course, but it probably wouldn’t matter now that he had to split his fire between two enemy fleets. And yet, there was a light in the darkness...
He left tactical control to the tactical staff and studied the overall situation. Force Two was reducing speed as it approached the fortresses, ready to combine its fire with the fixed defenses to overwhelm any incoming ships. It would be Roman who had to impale himself, if the battle played out the way Emperor Marius had clearly expected. Breaking through the Asimov Point was the only apparent hope of success, but it meant running a gauntlet of fire from Force Two and the fortresses, with Force One breathing down their necks.
Unless, of course, something happened to those ships first.
“Record a message for Commodore Hazelton,” he ordered. “Commodore, the tactical situation has taken a turn that is quite definitely not to our advantage. You are hereby ordered to reprogram your assault pods to the following coordinates—” his fingers danced across his console “—and launch them on my mark.”
“The courier boat we left at the Asimov Point is not responding,” Lieutenant Thompson warned. “She’s gone.”
Roman wasn’t surprised. The courier boat had been right next to the fortresses. She’d either popped through the Asimov Point as soon as she’d seen the trap or been blown to atoms at point-blank range. Either way, she was gone.
“Load the message onto a flight of courier drones,” he ordered. “And prepare to fire them, along with a full protective ECM shroud.”
Lieutenant Thompson started. “Sir,” she said, “I am obliged to warn you that regulations...”
“To hell with regulations,” Roman snarled. It meant giving up a barrage of missiles, but he didn’t dare rely on one or two courier drones. The fortresses would do whatever they could to keep him from signaling anything on the other side of the point. “Let’s live dangerously.”
He smiled, then gritted his teeth as the tidal wave of missiles broke over his command. The enemy had fired thousands — clearly, someone had been pushing Earth’s industrial base to the limits — and hundreds broke through, closing in on their targets. Roman forced himself to watch as dozens of ships were damaged or destroyed; the superdreadnaught Potemkin blown into radioactive debris by nearly a dozen antimatter warheads, the superdreadnaught John Paul Jones only narrowly avoiding the same fate when the battlecruiser Agrippa took four missiles that were meant for the larger ship. The superdreadnaught Sheridan drifted out of formation, atmosphere streaming out of a dozen hull breaches; Roman couldn’t help feeling a flicker of guilt at his own relief when her hulk a
bsorbed five more missiles before she disintegrated into a fireball. At least some of her crew had made it off the doomed ship before it was too late.
“The courier drones are ready, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson stated.
Roman hesitated. Emperor Marius was no slouch. If he saw the drones, he’d guess at what was coming. And yet, timing was everything. There should be almost no time for him to respond before it was too late.
He cursed under his breath as the starfighters and gunboats closed in, the latter launching three or four shipkiller missiles from practically point-blank range. Home Fleet’s pilots lacked the practiced skill of Fifth Fleet’s, but they’d clearly been training hard in the simulators. And there were a lot of them. Roman had a nasty suspicion they were staging starfighters from Tara Prime itself, rearming them in the carriers and then throwing the tiny craft straight into the battle. Clearly, Admiral Vincent had thought better of his attempted betrayal.
“Launch the drones,” he ordered.
* * *
“The enemy ships have just launched a cloud of drones,” Ginny reported. Emperor Marius was barely paying attention to her — he was watching the crisis unfolding inside his ship — but he snapped back at her words. “They’re aimed at the point.”
“There’s nowhere else they would be going,” the Emperor snarled. One hand was toying with the flap of his holster, as if he intended to draw his pistol and shoot the next person who brought him bad news. “They have to have hidden additional forces behind the Asimov Point!”
He thumped the display, sharply. “Order the fortresses to shoot down the drones!”
It was too late, Ginny knew. Even with StarComs, the time-delay would ensure that the fortresses would engage — or not — on their own, without orders. And she had no idea just how trustworthy Admiral Vincent’s people were. Their Admiral might have ordered them to stand beside Home Fleet and fight to the last, but how many of them knew his original plan?
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 30